Praise the Spells and Bless the Charms
by MaybeItsJustMyType
Summary: A quick peek into my The Cure or the Kill 'verse.. Not a chapter but a smutty morsel to keep you over Christmas and to say thanks for reading! Happy holidays...


A little trip into my The Cure or the Kill 'verse..

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*The title of this is the first line of a poem by Ogden Nash, it was suggested by my darling beta and I think it fits so perfectly..*

 **Always Marry an April Girl**

 _Praise the spells and bless the charms,_

 _I found April in my arms._

 _Gracious, cruel, tender, rowdy;_

 _April golden, April cloudy,_

 _April cold with sudden anger,_

 _April soft in flowered languor, Ever changing, ever true -_ _I love April, I love you._

* * *

Extending his hand, "Molly, would you pass me the- "

The small clay pot slapped into the palm of his hand softly before he could even form the shape of the first syllable, he glanced at it and found he was in fact holding -

"Wormwood," he uttered in surprise.

Molly glanced at his face and smiled, pleased at the look of amazement and pride, yes, there _was_ pride there - if only the type a teacher feels having taught a student well, she thought ruefully.

Carefully, he poured the tiniest amount into the larger mixture, just the merest drop was all that was required. The dark green tincture spread like ripples in a pond after a stone is thrown and the potion was ready for him to activate.

He couldn't completely suppress the quirking of his lips, he knew Molly would be staring, she always watched him, but it was when he was casting spells and chanting in the language of ago, used by sorcerers, that she would look positively spell bound herself.

His long, elegant, bejewelled fingers danced in the sunlight that streamed in through the large windows and bathed his potion bench in a golden glow, the movement mesmerising; his voice as he chanted the secret ancient words and pulled magic from the air to funnel into the medicine was masculine and melodious and tugged insistently, _sinfully_ on her core.

Molly was consumed with thoughts of those fingers pinching her nipples and stroking her quim, that voice calling her name and entreating her to sing his own in sweet abandon. Heat kindled low in her in her belly, the flames licking her face as she stood swaying, lost in fantasies and half remembered dreamscapes.

When she came back to herself, she heard him, fond amusement in his voice as he reminded her they must leave.

He flung his Belstaff up, gracefully spinning a circle. Galaxies of colour flared up from the blackness at his contact; iridescent and aglow with the light of the stars, they rippled and quaked.

Head tilted to one side, a smile, cheerful but with a hint of knowing darkness, played about her mouth, her eyes roamed both him and his cape, lingering longest where she would not dare to look were her mother present.

Holding her coat out, he couldn't help chuckle at the expression on her face, he hadn't lied to her, he really couldn't read minds, but he saw enough in that pretty blush to know that what she'd been thinking about certainly had not involved the two of them putting on _more_ clothes.

~o0oo0oo0o~

On their way back from a successful outing, Molly stopped here and there to gather flowers, she wanted a bouquet for her mother and he was happy to oblige her. The potion had been a roaring success, the sheep were all fine. Though his magic created the ability for animals to speak in his presence, he hadn't needed to ask if the potion had worked, he could _see_ it had been an immediate success, the mysterious wasting illness had lifted, allowing them to finally eat.

Peering over a fence Molly looked on with longing at the most beautiful violet flowers just over by the stream running through the property, her mother would adore them. She frowned in frustration at the cow and bull munching dopily on grass on the far side of the side of the paddock contained by the fence.

Seeing her desire, Sherlock allowed his good mood to carry him away and, walking up behind her, slipped his hands around her tiny waist and lifted her without either asking or giving a word of warning.

She responded with a squeak, "What - ?"

Cutting her off, he grinned, "Getting your mother the pretty purple ones."

Landing on the other side, Molly watched as he swung himself over the fence in a singularly graceful manoeuvre. Swallowing hard when his cape fell away revealing his trousers stretched tightly across his buttocks as he flew through the air.

He landed easily and held his hand out to Molly without thinking, she took it in the same spirit and they wandered slowly towards the patch of wild blooms together, sides bumping against each other companionably as they went, exchanging smiles and on Molly's part, blushing prettily.

The two were so wrapped up in each other, neither took any notice of the cow making heart eyes at Sherlock or the bull snorting and kicking his hooves up. The closer they got, the more agitated the bull became.

The cow lowed to Sherlock, fluttering her long, feathery lashes flirtatiously, "Sorcerer, have you come for me?"

Tilting her large head, she murmured in invitation, "I think just being near you has sent me into oestrus."

Molly couldn't hold back her laughter.

Closing his eyes, Sherlock sighed, shaking his head at the absurdity of the situation.

The bull, enraged at the thought of this flimsy little creature anywhere _near_ his mate in heat, bellowed, a wild, primal sound born of the fear of losing his chosen mate.

His strong front legs kicked up dirt under foot, his snorts and huffs loud and heavy as he turned toward Sherlock. "I will toss you off the end of my horns, puny magic-man, you will not take my mate on this day."

Holding his hands out placatingly, "We just came to pick some flowers, I have no wish to take your… _lady_."

Nodding as though this settled the matter, he pulled at Molly's hand, intent on heading toward the pretty patch briefly before leaving.

Noting the direction in which Sherlock clearly meant to lead Molly, the bull shrieked again, a sound of pure rage, putting its head down, horns up, it charged at Sherlock, "I will wear you as my crown and _bathe_ in your blood."

Molly's eyes were wide with terror, she stood frozen, Sherlock tugged on her hand in vain. She was completely stuck on the booming bull as he barrelled toward them.

Left with no choice, he simply scooped her up and ran. With his heartbeat thundering in his ears, the wind picked its way through his curls, inspecting one before tossing it aside and choosing another. The weight of Molly in his arms did nothing to hinder his progress, in fact, holding her gave his feet wings and he felt a peace underlying his desperation that he hadn't felt since his youth.

The foolish cow watched his journey with interest, "Come back and see me sometime?"

The Bull was overwhelmed with anger and fear. Unable to focus on anything but securing his territory, had he simply stopped and looked, he would have noticed Sherlock cradling Molly so delicately, as though she were a priceless and irreplaceable heirloom and Molly, with stars in her eyes, admiring the way the breeze flipped and lifted his hair. More importantly he would have seen his mate, who, while watching this chaotic flight across the meadow, had focussed all of her attention on his own self as he raged in defence of her.

When he made it to the fence, he gently tipped Molly over and she landed in a sort of lump on the other side. He was up and over that fence faster than he'd ever done anything in his life. Checking Molly he was thankful to find her unharmed, just dazed.

Turning, he spoke to the bull, "Peace, my good friend, I don't want your female," nodding in Molly's direction, "I have my own, you see?"

The bull huffed, dipping his head, he flicked his head toward the cow and in the way of an apology, offered, "She flirts, I think she likes to see me angry."

Sherlock couldn't help but grin at that, "Go then, she'll be pleased with you now, chasing away a sorcerer."

Shuffling his two front feet, the bull nodded, his wide head moving slowly, jutting his chin toward Molly, he said, "I wouldn't have hurt her, never, she's… _special_."

Sherlock nodded his thanks, the significance of the last word lost on him, grateful, he added, "Let me help you a little more. After all, we always need more calves come the spring."

Reaching down, he picked up a limp Molly up and throwing her over his shoulder, begged, "Please, please, I beg you, let us go," winking, he turned and ran, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

The bull was strutting when he made his way back to his mate, she stood waiting for him and mooed softly at his approach, the gift of speech already fading as Sherlock moved further from them.

Sherlock ran with Molly in his arms until they were nearly back at Baker cottage. Eventually, needing to catch his breath, he stopped. Laying her down carefully and flopping alongside.

Rolling onto her side, she looked at him, her chin resting on the heel of her hand. Her smile was wide and her eyes curious, "Why didn't you just use magic?"

Clearing his throat, Sherlock mumbled, "It would have shamed him, in front of his wife, she would lose respect."

Laughing and frowning in disbelief, "You ran for your life so a bull wouldn't feel embarrassed?"

"A bull must be a protector, if he is weak, she will leave. I wouldn't have let him - I would have used magic to protect you."

Molly nodded, eyes dewy with love for him. They were silent after that, comfortable in each other's presence in the sun dappled shade of the tree,

Her voice was soft when she spoke again, "Sherlock?"

He turned toward her slowly, his stomach doing barrel rolls, the tenderness in her voice making him ache. She was right there, lips parted, the wind rippling through her hair and tugging out messy strands to frame her face fetchingly.

Their eyes locked and he strained up toward her, at the same time he grazed his hand up and over her back to her neck and pulled her down.

When their lips met, she exhaled and he could have sworn her very breath formed his name.

Knocking her elbow out from under her, so she crashed down onto him, he pulled her body over his own, ceding to her the control.

Her hands threaded into his locks, the silky curls sifting through her fingers, her tongue plundered his mouth.

Sitting up, she straddled his thighs, he watched her towering above him and his hands moved to her stomach, gliding over her taut abdomen, he circled his fingers, scratching lightly. When she arched into his touch, he slipped his hands under her blouse and found her nipples already stiff with desire.

Breaking off from her exploration of his drawstring, Molly moaned and threw back her head.

Surging up, he whispered, "May I?"

Molly held her arms straight up in the air and allowed him to slip her blouse off.

Shivers running wildly up and down her body, chased by goosebumps as his palms trailed up the insides of her arms, tracing over the sensitive skin and finally flinging her blouse away.

He stilled, completely struck by her beauty, the sun bright on her milky white skin, the pale pink of her nipples a delicate beauty. His hands slid up and covered them, silken under his roughened callouses.

"You're so beautiful Molly Hooper."

Fitting his mouth over a breast, he hissed in surprise when he felt her to hand around his cock. Her fist was snug as she moved it up and down.

He fell back and she watched him, clearly pleased with her ability to bring him to his knees, his boot heels dug into the ground as his hips thrust up toward her. Her eyes travelled from her hand and what lay cradled in it, to his face.

"I want to taste," her breath moved in and out rapidly through her heaving chest.

A strangled sound made its way past his throat when she shimmied down. Propping himself up on his elbows, he watched her.

Tugging firmly at the drawstrings, this time she would not be deterred, taking him out, her eyes grew big. Tentative at first, a pointed tongue darting into the slit and tracing around the glans.

Her eyes had found his at this, and the _look_ she gave him, such wonton and dark desire, he cursed.

Smiling, she drew him into her mouth, loosely holding him as she swirled her tongue playfully around. His gasps and sighs spurring her on.

Pressure, he needed pressure, the warmth was heaven and the slide of wet skin against his own was divine but it was driving him wild with need.

"Molly, I need," he blew a breath out, "Your hand?"

Understanding immediately, she shook her head and giggled. Brushing her hair over one shoulder, she took him once again into her mouth, then glancing at his face to gauge his reaction; she formed a tight seal, using her lips and _sucked_ , making a band with her mouth similar to that of her hand.

"Oh, by the Gods, Molly, _Molly_ ," falling back again, what was she doing to him? Her mouth was so _eager_. She moaned around his shaft as though it was pleasurable for her too.

Looking down the length of his body, he could see his cock, dark red and swollen, springing from a mess of tangled black curls and disappearing into her sweet mouth. Her cheeks hollowed as she bobbed her head, taking him deeper and deeper, every gasp and moan she dragged from him exciting her further.

Her hair hung down, a sheet of satin waves, tickling her nipples. Even from here he could see the evidence of her pleasure in being exposed to him.

Her breasts were too far away to be touched but he _needed_ to feel her milky soft skin, to grind it between his teeth. "Molly?"

Molly hummed around his cock and white hot pleasure dissolved his every thought, the only thing that existed was _this_ , when she used her other hand to cup his balls and massage them with gentle circular motions, tightening them even further, he was lost.

His groan was deep and drawn out as he pulsed into her mouth. Everything blurred out of focus, a sort of madness overcame him, he was as lost to his body as it may be possible to be and not have shuffled off this mortal coil, he understood now well enough why they called it la petite mort. Though he himself was incapable of death, unless the Gods wished it so, he had an inkling now, a sense of how it felt to cleave your spirit from your mind and body, a strange sort of freedom, but a powerful one.

He returned to himself to find her watching him, her lip caught between her teeth, he felt an irrational flare of jealousy that her teeth should be working her flesh rather than his own. Surging toward her like the tide, he pulled her down to him. His tongue filled her mouth the way he wished for his cock to fill her core.

She whined, and needing to steady herself, her arms went around his neck. Without breaking the kiss he pushed a hand under her skirts and delved into her under garments. He found her already swollen and slick, when his fingers slipped over her folds, she laced her fingers through his damp curls and tugged him even closer, her own tongue plunging into his mouth and dancing and twirling around his.

Her hips rocked back and forth desperately as he caught the hood of her clitoris in between his fingers and lightly tugged before circling the little bud within. When he let his hand slip away for a moment, she moaned desperately, he guided her to sit in his lap properly and hold on to him, arms again around his neck.

Once he had her in position, he pulled the ties on the sides of her knickers and let them fall open. Slicking his thumb over her pearl, he flicked his fingers across the hood to add pressure and with the other hand he eased in two fingers slowly and let her ride them.

Her kisses were almost feral as she licked and bit and sucked on his mouth, the closer to her orgasm she got, the rougher and more needy she became.

Desperate to hear her utter his name he pulled back, asking her, "Who are you thinking of?"

Her eyes had snapped open, meeting his, arousal colouring them coal black, "You, I only ever think of you."

He'd swallowed at this, barely able to get the words out, "My name," shame in his eyes now when they met hers again.

Understanding had dawned in her eyes at this, " _Oh_." As she began convulsing around his fingers, she'd cried out, "Sherlock, Sherlock, my love."

~o0oo0oo0o~

Sighing, regret dragging on him, sucking the very breath from his chest, he remembered what had _actually_ transpired that day.

Oh they had ran alright, he hadn't carried her though, she had been right there next to him, he couldn't even say he'd given her that. She hadn't needed saving, her laughter had trilled out behind them like a golden ribbon, beautiful in the sunlight, shimmering above the grass.

They held hands and ran together from the angry bull, collapsing in laughter against a tree just outside of Baker cottage. When their laughter had ebbed they had fallen into each other's eyes.

The merriment had stopped, as though cut through cleanly with a knife, it definitely was a blade of sorts, their desire, cruel and double sided. For as much he denied it, his need for her was all consuming, a fire that burned in his soul, _mercilessly_ , turning him to ash in her absence.

Neither of them had breathed and time had stretched out, thin enough to see through, to see that they were to be wed and he knew he need not fight any longer. Her eyes had welcomed him as he'd finally allowed himself to do what every cell in his body was begging him for, as he drifted toward her, she sighed in expectation and her breath fanned out over his face, sweet and warm.

The snap of a twig had broken the spell, they'd turned toward the sound and saw John, pink and apologetic as, too late, he turned away.

Clearing his throat, he'd let cowardice overcome him and he'd pushed the certainty away and retreated into his emotional cave again. He'd brushed her hair behind her ear, wistful as he said, "I guess we'd better find out what John wants."

Her face had fallen at this, immediately she'd papered a bright smile over it to spare him any pain, and more than anything it was the memory of that smile hurt the most. He had done nothing but wrong her and push her away, again and again, and her response?

Love.

That was all she'd wanted, just that he let her love him, nothing nefarious, she had no plans to rob him of his power or ensnare him, she just wanted to be near him and help him with his work.

Rolling onto his side, he tried to ignore the deep sadness as his heart cried for Molly, he wondered who she was with and what she was doing, the animals told him she'd been seen with a local woman's grandson visiting from another town, Wiggins hadn't had much information on him but promised they would try to find out who Jim was.

Worry niggled at his mind but he dismissed it as weakness. Wanting the mortal girl, he was only suspicious of this boy because he wanted an excuse to claim her; closing his eyes against the fading light, he eventually fell into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

 _Hope you enjoyed this, happy holidays and enjoy the SBBC!_

 _Come and find me on Tumblr, lots of time to be wasted! I'm sweet-sweet-escape.._


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